


Fortune

by waywardscenarios



Series: A Thousand and One Nights [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ATAON Universe, Adulthood, Developing Relationship, Establish Relationship, Expectations, F/M, Minimal Drama, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Part 3, Rating May Change, Romance, Slice of Life, Social Expecations, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardscenarios/pseuds/waywardscenarios
Summary: A year in the life, with the good and the bad





	1. Yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a canon expansion of my main work **A Thousand and One Nights** , bridging the narrative gaps between the final chapter and the epilogue. A lot of this might not make sense if you didn’t read the original story, so if you want a clearer understanding of some of the references and in-jokes then please head back over to the first part in the series. ~~its only 31 chapters, you'll make it through~~
> 
> A series of one-shots based off the fortunes our Trash Lovebirds got at the end of the story, featuring some of our other lovable train-wrecks. Consider this the re-emergence of my withdrawals from Oiks and Writer, and an apology for running behind on my new stories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in small doses will find its way to you. It is time to struggle against minor hurdles.
> 
> // 
> 
> Good luck comes to you in small doses, but there will be strife that follows along.

_ January, 2019 _

His sleep was disturbed.

Not by the sensation of another body near him, or the distant intrusive sounds of the early morning hustle, but by the creeping light the opaque curtains somehow failed to block out.

_What’s the point of curtains if they don’t block out the sun?_

Oikawa cracked an eye open, squinting in the early morning light as he tried to take in his surroundings. A plain bedroom, not _barren_ per say but one that would be considered by most to be barely lived in, and a body sprawled out next to him. Face down, the covers of the bed hide most of their body while the laid flat on their stomach. His left arm was trapped in the grasp of their own, arms coiled tight around his bicep.

‘Ah yes,’ he thought, ‘Writer-chan.’

Oikawa yawned and stretched out the tense muscles in his free arm before he threw it over his eyes, a feeble attempt to wash out the sunlight that forced him awake. The memories of the night before came with darkness, as if they were projected before him on to a canvas.

They left the Meiji Shrine hand in hand, jabbing each other with loose threats as they made their way further into the metro area towards a familiar ramen house; the same one they had visited for Oikawa’s birthday all those months ago. From there, they stayed couped up inside before catching the last train home from Shinjuku back to Mejirodai. It was quarter to one when they arrived at (Name)’s apartment, stumbling in with different levels of fatigue surging through their systems. The writer pressed herself up against his side for the latter half of the journey home, eyelids drooping and her voice soft as she whined about “Staying out to late”, “I’m suffering a caffeine crash”, and “I haven’t slept in almost thirty hours, I can’t believe you made me do that you _fuck_.”

The annoyance lost its bite by the time they reached her apartment, and the writer had begun to fold in on herself the closer they got to her bedroom.

He laughed at her as he put her to bed, continuing to jest at how she hadn’t let go of his hand for the remainder of the night.

She responded with something akin to detest, even as he was guiding her winter clothes off of her slowly relaxing body and helped her into her sleepwear.

Oikawa didn’t consider the true repercussions of his request, of dragging the writer out of her apartment to indulge in the new year festivities. The thoughts never came to him; not when he was nudging her shin under the table at dinner, nor when he was stripping himself down in order to slide into bed next to her.

But now, in the literal light of the new day, it was all he could think about.

A common sight in the writer’s home was scrap paper and sticky notes strewn about across every surface imaginable. From memory, this was the first time he was in her bedroom. Most of his visits left him in the lounge room, as a means of respecting the privacy (Name) wanted to keep. Oikawa anticipated for there to be a similar sight; he expected the room to be littered wall to wall with notes and books. But to his surprise, it wasn’t the case. The only sign that would signal this room belong to the writer was the small pile of notebooks that peeked out from the open closet door.

He saw them the previous night when he helped her change; old notebooks with child-like handwriting scrawled across the covers. Memories that, he assumed, she didn’t wish to see the light of day.

It was almost cute, if he didn’t want to use them to embarrass her. 

“You’re smiling too loud, please tone it down.”

His head snapped down to face her, the angle pulling a muscle in his neck from the speed which he reacted. No longer was her head buried face down. Instead she tilted her face to the side so only one of her cheeks were pressed into the fabric. Her eyes were closed, though not as tightly or as relaxed as he originally observed the night before when they both reclined.

In his moment of pause, Oikawa realised that the corners of his lips and quirked upwards.

They dropped almost immediately.

“Wasn’t smiling.” He retorted.

“You were.” She grumbled back, shifting so her free cheek rested against his shoulder. “S’disgusting.”

He clicked his tongue at her, bending his arm so that he could drag her further into his chest. “You’re delirious, it’s early.”

“Of course I’m delirious… This is the first time I’ve slept in almost two days.” She grumbled. “So if you don’t want me to make false accusations then be a dear and let me sleep. You owe me that much.”

“And after you sleep?” Oikawa mused. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Dunno…” Her free hand came up from under the covers and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll think about it when I’m more awake.”

The man hummed in thought, his original reply dying in his throat when he heard the muffled growl of his stomach. “You hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Fun fact… I’m the type that doesn’t eat until six hours after they’re, like, fully awake.”

“What about coffee?”

(Name) groaned and slapped the hand once massaging her face over his mouth. “Don’t mention caffeine right now, I’m still crashing.”

Shoulders shaking from a chuckle, he removed her hand from his mouth, bringing to back down to his chest. Their fingers intertwined for a second before he let the digits lay idly beside each other.

“That’s your own fault – you addict.”

“You are under no obligation to keep up with me, Limpy – my dirty little secrets don’t have to be yours too.”

There was a half beat of silence before Oikawa snorted, body shaking from the laughter he could no longer contain. The absurdity of the situation and the conversation itself was enough to break the façade of comfort they had made for themselves. A deranged, sleep-deprived pillow talk for a pair that wasn’t necessarily a pair of anything that announced his unspoken question.

_Oh dear God, how is this actually working?_

And, true to herself, (Name) caught on to the lunacy just as quickly, laughing in tandem with the setter. Their bodies shook with different degrees of fervour, and what was once a soundless display of disbelief became verbal, and shattered the early morning silence that became par for the course in the apartment.

The swell of emotion in his chest – the strange and foreign feelings caused by the woman at his side – rippled through his veins and made his limbs tingle. It was warm, and not at all unwelcomed.

Not that he would admit that to her.

“Well, Writer-chan, _you_ might not be hungry but _I’m_ starving… And very reluctant to leave this bed…” He resigned, letting his body relax even further into the surface beneath him. “What is this mattress made of? Duck down? Goose feathers? The bodies of your enemies? Can I have this bed, you don’t sleep anyway.”

Her hand came up and pushed his face again, muffling his interjections with a vigour.

“Let’s get breakfast.” Oikawa stated with a cough, moving his face away from her hand. It flailed about for a moment before it rested against the crook of his neck.

“I’m tired. And lazy.”

“Your kitchen is right there.”

“It’s cute you think that I have actually gone outside for regular adult things since the new year has begun.”

Oikawa shot up in place, letting the covers drop from his body and forcefully untangling the writer from where she slept. The exasperated groan the writer emitted made him snort.

“Then we’ll go to my place.”

The conviction in his voice was unfamiliar to the writer, and to Oikawa himself if he were honest. His career path and ambition required the completion of early morning routines and isolated motivation. Though there was a conscious choice and awareness of these sacrifices, Oikawa Tooru was in no way, shape, or form someone who could be considered a ‘Morning Person’.

The writer snorted, lifting her hand to pat his bare chest before she took to rolling back over.

“I’m good here, thanks.”

The setter whined, letting his upper body lean forward so that his chest was pressed up against her shoulder. “But _food_.”

“But _sleep_.” She whined back.

“I’ll let you sleep while I cook.”

There was a lull in the banter – a brief bout of hesitation that signalled she was actually _considering_ the offer-

“You cook?”

He frowned against her skin, moving so his face was pressed into her neck. “You’ll never know if you don’t come over.”

Her fingers shifted out of their balled fists, pushing against his bicep ever so slightly.

“You don’t mind me over there?”

The question was quiet – a soft whisper against his eardrums – and it made his mind reel from the insinuation of her words.

As often as he jested and joked – (Surname) (Name) was much smarter about people and boundaries than she would ever publicly display. Her memory was far better than his would ever be, and her mind ran through scenarios and possibilities far faster than anyone else in his life.

She considered an apartment – any place of living – to be that boundary. And though she often complained about people being inside her abode for stretches of time that regular people would consider concerning, she never did the same to other people.

Almost as if she were trying to present the example to the people in her life that they couldn’t – or _shouldn’t_ – expect hospitality in a place where it doesn’t necessarily call home.

(Again, Oikawa couldn’t help but let his gaze flicker to the bare spots of the bedroom, or be reminded of how _sterile_ the rest of the apartment looked on a rare good day.)

He slid one of his hands to her hip. The muscle tensed. He moved it to her elbow.

“It seems only fair that you bunk up in my apartment after all the times I’ve been in yours.”

Oikawa barely caught a glimpse of her expression, and the rigidness of her body gave him no other clues or signs of her emotion.

“So you admit that it’s bullshit that you’re mooching off me?”

“I’m offering my services to you out of the goodness of my heart and you’re judging me.”

Her shoulders shook, and Oikawa did nothing to stop the quirk growing in the corner of his lips.

“Is that a yes for breakfast at mine?”

“S’long as I get to sleep a little more…” One of her eyes pried itself open, a glint of mirth dwelling deep within them. “You owe me that much. I was _religious_ for you.”

The huff that left his lips was one of exasperation mixed with humour. Oikawa sat back up and swung his legs over the edge over the bed to stand up. He stretched, groaning as the fatigue and ache that settled in his bones overnight dissipated. Turning back around, his gaze met (Name), who rolled over to face him.

“You coming?”

“Numb legs.”

“Are you always this much of a hassle in the mornings?”

“Dunno… I’m not a fully functioning human until midday.”

With a deep exhale Oikawa leant down, hands coming to grab at her sides and dragged her closer to the edge. He stooped, continuing to move her body until he was able to hoist her into his lap. Hands hooked under the thighs, he dropped into a squat before he stood back up, wrapping the writer’s legs around his waist.

“Didn’t realise this would be my life from now own.” He chuckled, using one hand to make sure her arms were secure around his shoulders. (Name)’s head pressed into his neck, cheek flush against his bare shoulder.

“If you drop me I’ll sue you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Soft footsteps padded against the floor as the setter continued through the room, adjusting the writer’s weight against him with ever other step.

“Want me to pack you a bag?”

“You’re expecting me to camp out there when I live right next door?”

“I dunno how long you’ll sleep for – days, months? God forbid I try and make sure you’re clean when you sleep in my bed.”

“Y’know what, I’ve changed my mind, drop me on the floor now please.”

He brought both hands back to the undersides of her thighs. “Nah, I’ve committed to weight training. You’re heavy enough.”

She didn’t reply. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly as her body relaxed against him in defeat. A sign that no, she didn’t need a bag. Oikawa hummed, opening the door to her bedroom and letting the cool air from the rest of the apartment encompass them.

They didn’t speak as Oikawa carried her through the rest of her apartment, nor when he fumbled in the genkan as he tried to shove his shoes on. With his feet barely shoved into them, he moved to his jacket hanging on the coat rack, rummaging around in the pocket for his house keys.

“You don’t need anything yeah?”

(Name) remained quiet, only choosing to speak up when she heard the click of her front door unlock. “No one’s out there, yeah?”

He paused, holding his breath. Silence. No heavy steps, or the sound of the elevator moving up and down its shaft.

Oikawa didn’t answer her, instead choosing to throw open the door and walk towards his apartment. With a few long strides he was at his door, quickly unlocking the door and throwing it open to let them both in. It slammed shut behind him the moment he slid into the genkan, kicking off his shoes once more before stepping up into the hallway.

He felt her sigh in relief as soon as the world settled once more. Barely even five metres and she was still pressed about their neighbours seeing them.

She had a reason to, of course. The fact they had denied ever rumour that surfaced about them in the last few months of the previous year was enough to set _both_ of them off.

“I’ll put you in my room and you can sleep… I’ll wake you up for breakfast.”

(Name) nodded, moving her head to let out a soft yawn.

“Did you want anything specific?”

“Omu-rice.”

“How about granola?”

“I will cut you.”

“Sure you will Writer-chan.” Oikawa nudged her head up with a shrug of his shoulder, continuing down the hall and turning left into his bedroom.

It felt strange to be in his apartment with her – especially after having stayed in Sendai for the holidays, and spending most of his free time in the apartment next door. It was both foreign and familiar, all because of the presence of the woman in his arms.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type…”

“Huh?”

Her hand shifted from his back. “That photo up there… Of you and the others in high school.”

Oikawa didn’t need to look back. He knew the photo she was talking about. The Hopeless Couple, Iwa-chan, and himself, all dressed in the Seijoh school uniforms on the day of their graduation. Makki’s mother wanted a photo of them – and proceeded to force the light-haired male to give a copy to each of them.

It wasn’t a bad photo per say – but a goofy candid one. Mattsun used Iwa-chan’s head as an arm rest, while he used his other arm to lock Oikawa’s head in a hold. Makki was the only one not trapped by the gangly middle-blocker, but stood off to the side well out of arm’s reach and stared dead on into the lens of the camera. Iwaizumi looked ready to kill, one hand blurry as it reached towards Mattsun’s neck, while Oikawa himself had a comical sneer on his face, his own hands tightened around the forearm of the blocker. Mattsun was the only one smiling – ear to ear with his pearly white teeth.

(Okay, it was a bad shot. Oikawa was genuinely surprised Makki’s mum had chosen _that_ photo to be the one for posterity.)

“I always thought you’re the ‘Oh-Look-At-How-Perfect-My-Life-Is-Even-Though-I’m-Doing-Shitty’ type...” Her voice pattered out into a mumble, just in time with him closing the bedroom door behind them.

“Can’t I be proud of my high school days?”

“I would be if I was friend’s with guys like that.” (Name) let out a low whistle. “Why didn’t you tell me Iwaizumi-san was a cutie in high school? When did his pure, unabashed handsome kick? Was that, like, what happened after you moved out-”

Oikawa dropped her unceremoniously onto to the bed, forcing a laugh out of her lungs when she laid eyes on his unamused expression.

“I’m just stating facts.”

“Uh-huh, sure you are.”

Oikawa lifted a pillow from the head of the bed and placed it in her lap. “I thought you needed to sleep, hm?”

“Y’know it’s the strangest thing; making of you just makes my fatigue _disappear_. Who would’ve thought it was _that_ simple?” She mused, one hand coming up to cradle her chin.

“Well I hate to burst your bubble but m’hungry. And you’re gonna be hungry later and will kill me if I don’t follow through with food.” Oikawa shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Make yourself at home I guess. And don’t do anything weird.”

“I make no promises, Limpy.”

He rolled his eyes, waiting for a moment to watch her eyes blink shut once before the exhaustion kicked back in. He stepped back, nodding once before he quickly and quietly headed back out into his lounge room.

As soon as the bedroom door shut, he rested his back on the cool wood, eyes narrowing at the photo.

The photo surrounded by trophies and medals and certificates from his long sporting career as a setter. Set so it was eye-level, centred in a way that showed that _that_ was the real focus of the display cabinet.

Oikawa folded his arms and leant his head back against the surface behind him, eyes closing for a moment as he quelled the nerves still surging in his veins.

So _this_ is what Writer-chan felt whenever people looked through her things in her apartment.

 

* * *

 

It was much brighter when she woke up again, curled in unfamiliar sheets but with all too familiar sounds disturbing the atmosphere around her.

There was a moment of confusion, of uncertainty and fear as to _where the fuck am I_ before-

(Name)’s eyes snapped up, immediately being met with warm sunlight flowing through a half-closed window. No sign of books, nor the messy, overflowing closet she knew to be her own.

The sheets felt different – looked different – in compared to her usual dark colours.

The dust in her mind settled, and she understood.

She and Oikawa went out the night before. He slept at her place after the escapade. The next morning they went to his because he kept complaining.

Because she felt it was _time_ to not be in her own apartment if they were… Mutually co-existing.

She let her arms drop to her sides, and rolled over so she was laying flat on her back. The ceiling looked just like the one in her room – she didn’t know _why_ she thought it would look different. Force of habit, perhaps. Nerves were more likely.

(Name) didn’t want to get up. Because there was a particular reality that existed on the other side of the bedroom door that she didn’t necessarily want to address.

 _Domesticity_.

 _With Oikawa Tooru_.

She couldn’t help but wonder as to whet exactly went on in her sleep addled mind. Had her coffee dependency caused her mind to deteriorate to the point where she would willingly let this happen? Without hesitation? Was it guilt? Because she essentially dragged him home when she was able to do so herself?

(Maybe she hadn’t been completely alright to do so when she didn’t remember three-quarters of the train ride _back_ to Mejirodai, but those were just semantics, really.)

A few more minutes passed, and she could practically see the hands of an invisible clock tick _so slowly_.

Something clanged from beyond the door.

In the direction of where she assumed the kitchen was.

_Was he still cooking?_

With a grumble she rolled out of the bed, bracing her hands on the mattress’ edge while she continued to get her bearings. The carpet was softer than the one in her room (which was _bullshit_ , did he get that professionally cleaned???) and to her surprise it was much tidier in terms of belongings. Sure, there were random shirts and jackets strewn across the floor, however it was better than the chaos of her mind’s ramblings and the unreadable chicken scratch of several post-it note pads.

Her footsteps were heavy against the floor as continued onwards, pulling hair out of her face as she threw open the bedroom door and slipped into the main hallway.

Sure enough the setter was there, facing the stovetop with several empty, dirty dishes littering the free counter-space. He’d donned a jumper in the time she’d been sleeping, the sleeves pushed up to avoid whatever was cooking.

On the island behind him were a few plates of food and a few small bowls of sides. The one that caught her eyes was the one covered with cling film.

Omu-rice.

With a middle finger drawn with ketchup on the top.

She snorted.

Oikawa turned around at the noise, eyes wide.

“Morning…”

His eyes narrowed.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“Exactly, _morning_.”

The setter rolled his eyes and switched off the stove, wiping his pants on his sweatpants before he turned to face her head on. “Want me to heat up your food?”

“I’ll eat it as is.”

“No one likes cold eggs.”

“Maybe I do.”

“You’re weird, but not even writer’s are _that_ weird.” He countered, not bothering to wait for her genuine answer before he shoved the plate into the microwave. “The sauce’ll taste weird after this.”

“It just matches the sentiment of the image it’s displaying.”

The whirr of the machine was barely heard over Oikawa’s laugh. “I think that’s a very romantic image.”

“Of course you do.”

The obnoxious blaring of the alarm cut (Name) off before she could continue, making the man turn around to replate the food. “Just sit at the dining table, I’ll bring the stuff over.”

“Need help?”

“You’ll help by sitting there. I can’t trust that your fully functional after that nap.”

She raised her hands in defeat, moving to the dining table and taking the seat closest to the lounge room. In three different trips, the brunet brought over the food and utensils. Omu-rice for her, and-

“You made yourself tempura?”

Oikawa shrugged as he settled in his chair, sighing his back hit the rest. “I got hungry and bored after my breakfast. And I had enough time to run down to the konbini for stuff so I figured, why not?”

The writer couldn’t stop the frown from appearing on her face.

“S’fine. Needed to buy stuff. I haven’t been to the store since last year.”

She nodded in reply, bowing her head slightly while she thanked in for the food before digging in.

As she expected, the eggs were okay – just barely fluffy and passable – and the shredded chicken (she assumed it was chicken) was barely discernible when compared to the rice inside the rolled egg. Oikawa was a brown rice man, apparently. Either that or he had done something to it without her knowing.

But still-

“This isn’t the worst I’ve had.”

Oikawa’s foot kicked her knee, but his face didn’t give away any sign of anger or annoyance.

“And who was?”

“Makoto. Third year of high school. She burnt the eggs so badly they couldn’t roll. It damaged my grandma’s skillet. I don’t know if she ever bought that replacement she promised.”

They laughed before lapsing back into silence, a silence only being broken by the tapping of metal chopsticks on porcelain, and the clacking of plates being lifted and replaced back on to the wooden table.

The only things breaking her concentration were the subtle nudges of Oikawa’s shin against her own, and the escalation of the strength in each jab. She struggled to keep a straight face, becoming more and more tempted to aim a few of her own pot-shots at his legs for revenge.

But she didn’t.

Because she was all to distracted at the fact that Oikawa Tooru had decided to wait for her to eat. Had willingly made her dinner. Had brought her into his home and kept her there without the complaints she gave when he was in her own.

Perhaps, she wondered, if it were time that she start being a little less of a dickhead when it came to matters involving the brown-haired Olympic hopeful.

Lunch – _brunch_ , in her case – finished quickly and quietly, with the pair of them washing the dishes together and discarding them haphazardly on to the drying rack.

And somehow, someway, they were sprawled out on along the chase of Oikawa’s sofa, limbs loosely curled around each other while they mulled in the soft silence.

(Name) was the first to find her voice.

“Wanna go anywhere today?”

She felt him tense underneath her, the action quickly followed by the shake of his head. “Not much. Why? Did you?”

She shook her head as well, her temple rubbing against his shoulder as she did. “No… Just wondering… Cause of the tournament or whatever…”

“You remembered?”

“It was all you were talking about to keep me awake last night…”

His hands squeezed, blunt nails just barely pinching the supple skin of her back. “I really don’t like doing much before a big tournament… Don’t like running the risk of exhausting myself to badly… Or screwing my knee up.”

(Name) blinked. “Is your knee okay?”

The writer didn’t need to look at the setter to know what type of dumb look had spread across his face. “Worried?”

“Being polite. We walked a lot yesterday.” Her tone was clipped and curt, an attempt to try and appear as nonchalant as she usually was when it came to matters of Oikawa.

“ _Walking_ won’t tear my ACL.”

“Life’s weird. It might.”

“ _You’re_ weird.”

“So are you-”

A phone blared, stirring both of them from their half-slumbers and auto-pilot insults.

(Name) frowned. “Was that mine…?”

He hummed. “I grabbed some shit from your apartment when I went out.” Oikawa lifted a hand and gestured to the area near the balcony doors. “There’s a bag of clothes over there for you… And your laptop… In case you wanted to write or something, I dunno…”

It took everything in her power to keep her head in position, to not whip around to face him and let the confusion and disbelief flood across her face. Because how dare he be considerate. What kind of new year, new me bullshit did he decide on at the temple?

“Can you grab it then…”

There was a brief grumble of protest before Oikawa untangled himself from the mess of the limbs and trudged over to where her phone was charging on the entertainment system. He inspected the screen as he walked back.

“Hm.” Flopping back on the chase, he slid back into place next to her, one arm tucked behind his head to prop himself up.

“What?”

“ _‘we comin ltr tonite. we celebrating. make sure ur wearing pants.’_ ”

She snorted. “Mattsun?”

“It’s astounding he works in a corporate office.”

The notification pinged again, making the setter narrow his eyes.

“ _‘or don’t. ur butts cute I need a good view after a long day’._ ”

Oikawa let the arm holding her phone drop down the couch, a look of annoyance blooming across his once relaxed face. “Does he do this often? It’s honestly a little weird if he does.”

She shrugged. “It’s banter. And he’s normally subtler. Bet he’s drunk.”

“That does nothing to comfort my concerns.”

“You should be more concerned with Makki, since he’s the one who’s seen me naked more times than anyone still alive on this planet.”

The setter narrowed his eyes.

She turned her head to face him properly, rest her cheek flat against the plush surface. “Did you wanna join? If you change your mind…”

He nudged her with her shoulder. “M’not intruding?”

She shrugged. “Dunno… Probably. But we’re all-”

Her voice faltered for a second, and she knew that he had already caught on to the though she was formulating and wouldn’t let her live it down.

“We’re all friends I guess, so is it really intruding?”

She gestured with her hand half-heartedly to the room around them. Her being here was a step in the direction of _something_ akin to friendship, maybe.

He moved a little closer, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “It’d be funnier for me if I was intruding, right?”

“Probably.”

“Free food?”

“Maybe beer too.”

“I’m in.”

Her eyes drooped ever so slightly. “Can you reply to him, ask what time they’ll be over?”

There was a beat of silence. “Your passcode?”

(Name) hadn’t realised she had a fist balled against the fabric of his jumper until she subconsciously pulled at it, tightening her grip even further.

There wasn’t any harm in telling him her passcode, was there? Makki knew. Mattsun knew. And as disruptive as they were, neither of them had done anything. Hell, even Bokuto knew her passcode – and he hadn’t even bothered with touching her phone in their short-lived friendship.

“It’s the date my first book got published…” She relented. “0703.”

Oikawa’s body shook as he chuckled silently with amusement. “I never took you for the sentimental type either.”

“It’s an easy set of numbers to remember.” She retorted.

“So is ‘1234’.”

The writer clicked her tongue at him, not bothering to try and argue when she was already beginning to nod off.

Every time she felt her eyes shut, she was jolted awake by the shake of the man’s torso, and then as promptly informed of the conversation his was having with the raven-haired man.

(“There’s so many innuendos.”

“That’s how we talk.”

“But there’s _so many_.”

“He’s buzzed, there’s no question ‘bout it.”)

She wasn’t sure as to how often she had almost drifted off into unconsciousness, nor was she sure with how long Oikawa had been talking to Mattsun. What she did know was that the odd sensation of comfort and peace from the previous night’s affairs had returned. As if this situation were meant to be…. As though there were nothing strange about two people with rough histories, and even rougher memories of each other, being so inclined to be in each other’s presence despite all odds.

“He figured out it was me.”

Eyes pried open once more, (Name) suppressed a yawn.

“Oh yeah…?”

Oikawa shifted, pulling her further up his chest to show her the screen.

“I insulted his brows.”

Bleary eyed, she stared at the blurry messages on the screen and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah… I only do that face-to-face.” She huffed out a tired laugh. “Fucking caterpillars.”

“Right? They’re well overdue to hatch.”

“Either Makki is aggressively inclusive to bug-people hybrids, or he wants to fuck a pupa. Like holy shit man, call an exterminator.”

The cascade of laughs Oikawa let out came deep from his belly, making him hunch awkwardly into her and press his forehead into the crown of her head.

“Y’know… Now that I think about it, I really don’t wanna meet up with them.” He exhaled, letting his body slump into the sofa once more. “We can just camp out here… Make them play the waiting game.”

The idea was a good one – not the spending time together, but just avoiding whatever conversation was hidden behind the couple’s visit awaiting her that evening. She missed their company after Makki’s long deserved winter holiday, sure, but the fact that this visit in particular was _announced_ rather than a surprise unsettled her ever so slightly. There was a hidden agenda. And she didn’t want any part of it – not right now.

“They’ll come look for me here.”

“I’ll hide you in the linen closet. They’ll never look there.”

“Been there, done that. Mattsun knows that escape route too.”

“You’ve hidden in a linen closet? Why the fuck-”

“Long story, and a rough weekend.” She interjected. “I assure you, not one of my proudest moments.” (Name)adjusted her position again. “And besides, they’d figure out you’re harbouring a fugitive.”

“Then we’ll both hide in the linen closet. Like a for. ‘No Perverts Allowed’. They may have your spare key, but they don’t have _mine_.”

She snorted. “That’s tempting.”

“What, being in a confide space with someone as beautiful as me?”

“Actually having somewhere where those idiots can’t bother me.”

That scenario was tempting – that whole _reality_ was tempting. The idea that maybe she could finally somehow have peace after five years of bullshit was something out of a daydream, something that seemed completely unattainable because of the life she lived, because of the speed she was forced to run at.

“Then let’s do it.”

(Name) lifted herself off of his chest. “What?”

“I’ll lock the door – hell I’ll barricade it, and the balcony – and then we’ll stay inside all night and just wait them out till they leave. If we ignore them for long enough then they’ll just move on… Or they’ll try and call Iwa-chan for his key to my apartment… But he wouldn’t hand it over, I think he’s in Sapporo covering a basketball game.”

The haste with which he spoke was impressive, and the details and contingency plans he was informing her of seemed far more developed for something that was seemingly being made up on the fly. As if he had pre-mediated this situation. Or, at the very least, was waiting for the right opportunity to use these extensive strategies and see if they worked for him.

The neurons in her brain fired off, filling in the gaps in the plan with her own ideas. Things she knew both Mattsun and Makki would do the moment they figured out what was going on. But she didn’t add on, because-

“It won’t work.”

“We won’t know until we try, will we?”

(Name) blinked, and sucked in a hesitant breath through a slightly clenched jaw.

He had a point.

That was a rarity that wasn’t necessarily unwelcomed when it came to Oikawa Tooru.

But the conviction in his voice interesting, was tantalising at the possibility and the challenge that laid beneath the surface of his propositions.

_What did they – the two of them – have to lose from this?_

_From any of this?_

The (h/c)-haired woman unclenched her fist and let her palm rest flat against his chest. “I’ll need a shower before we prepare for the apocalypse.”

“A nice hot bath? I can nick your kotatsu  in the meantime and bring it in here just to piss them off even more.”

“Leave the A/C on and take the remote too.”

“Break the balcony door so it won’t shut – let the snow in.”

“Okay, I want to mess with them, not cause weather damage to my own apartment.”

“I’ll pay for damages; just let me have a little fun with this.”

“There’s a line.”

“The snow’s probably covered it, who cares?”

“I feel like I’m learning a whole knew part of your Shittykawa personality,”

“Hey,” he poked her side, “this has been a long time coming for this two. And I blame you for agreeing so quickly to this idea.”

His grip around her tightened, pulling her closer to her body in the slow rising silence of the afternoon.

“Twenty minute nap and then we start?”

“I’ll set an alarm.”

And then she let her eyes flutter closed, her breathing slowing down to match his own. Somewhere  on the tail end of consciousness, she felt him rub small circles on her skin with his thumb, slow and comforting, in tandem with the rise and fall of both their bodies.

Perhaps, she thought in amidst the sleepy haze, the thought of being like this in someone else’s home wasn’t at all that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy belated valentine's day? i guess? cause what better way to celebrate a fabricated, commercialised holiday than with out favourite Disaster Couple! I won't have a frequent uploading schedule for this series per say, but that isn't to say I'll forget about this entirely. I'm gonna probably update this when I have writer's block for UCB or LAOAT - so you should definitely keep yourself in the loop of possibility through my twitter @/waywards_
> 
> also, the next chapter of UCB should be up within the next week or so. again, my twitter will have updates, especially now that uni's back in session already and a bitch is tryna graduate.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~dont mind the reupload~~


	2. Leaps and Bounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be content with all you have, do not desire those that are fickle.

_March, 2019_

“So remind me again why I’m doing this?”

“Because you love me and I’m your favourite person in the whole world.”

“Debatable.”

The train jostled from side to side, forcing their shoulders to bump each other as they resisted the sway.

Contrary to what she anticipated, the train towards Miyagi had been relatively empty for the peak hour of commuting. The crisp spring air followed both writer and editor as they entered the train, and despite the speed they were travelling at, Tokyo’s wind held onto their bodies well into the journey.

She silently hated the fact she was so ready to agree.

(Name) brought her coffee up to her lips again, taking a slow slip as she watched Makki swipe through messages on his phone. The pink-haired editor glanced at her briefly.

“I thought you were good at reading people?”

“I’ve been working on the whole ‘not assuming things’ these days. Tends to cause more harm than good.”

Makki sighed and locked his phone, angling his head to face her.

“I keep in touch with my old literature teacher, and a lot of the third years have chosen one of your books as a secondary source for their entrance exams. But they’re idiots. And since she knows I’m your editor she called me to ask if you could come and give a talk about it, maybe help boost their understanding or whatever since this is a private school and we can’t look like shit next to Shiratorizawa.”

She hummed, placing the now empty can between her thighs and rubbing her hands together. “So you said ‘yes’ for me?”

“You had nothing better to do. It was either this or I let Hisakawa trap you in his office for a meeting about your future at the company.”

(Name) groaned and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “What do I have to talk about specifically? Just so I know what to bullshit?”

Makki patted her knee and returned his attention to his phone. “Just consider it like the Writer’s Festival, or a panel at a conference. They’ll ask questions, you’ll answer them. Oh, and try to be PG, Seijoh is an uptight private school.”

“It still makes me laugh at you went to a private school.”

“Same could be said about you.”

She shrugged, cupping her hands around the can in her lap. “I had no choice.” Makki’s shoulders shook from his laughter. “How much longer is it?”

“Like, another half an hour.”

“Mind waking me up when we get there?”

He didn’t reply, merely rested his head on top of her own as a silent ‘Okay’.

 

* * *

 

When Makki told her that he, Mattsun, Iwaizumi and Oikawa all attended the same high school – a _private_ academy no less– she laughed.

Because there was no way she could see Mattsun _and_ Hanamaki in a place that was prim and proper. Oikawa maybe, Iwaizumi perhaps. The latter were more believable.

But upon reached the gates of Aoba Johsai Academy, whatever preconceived notion she held vanished.

Despite the aura of prestige that surrounded the campus grounds, Aoba Johsai was suspiciously normal in appearance.

“Welcome to Seijoh, the best-worst three years of my life,” Makki announced, gesturing sarcastically with his hand as they passed through the entrance gates.

“Don’t let the kids hear you be a bad senpai.” She snorted, fixing the cuffs of her blouse sleeves. “Still don’t believe you graduated from here.”

“I know right, I’m so high class – Aoba Johsai was _blessed_ with my presence.” He laughed, smiling at a group students loitering near the gates. “We’ve gotta head to the Main Office and meet up with my old literature teacher.”

“I can’t swear here, can I?”

“Wouldn’t recommend it, no.”

“I already hate this.”

“Now, now (Surname)-sensei, don’t say things you don’t mean.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, he steered her towards the main building, holding the door open as they entered through the guest entrance. “Set a good example for the youth and be a good upstanding citizen.”

“There’s no point in being a ‘good upstanding citizen’ when there are too many interviews with me being a sarcastic dickhead.”

He pinched her arm quickly before walking up to the front desk. (Name) forced the frown off of her face as Hanamaki began to speak quietly with the office lady. She twiddled her thumbs awkwardly.

Barely five minutes passed before a woman waddled out from the side door that lead to what she assumed was the staff room, grinning widely at her editor. “Takahiro! So good to see you!”

Makki turned in time with the woman’s entrance, bowing with a warm grin at the grey-haired staff member. “Nagakura-sensei, thank you for inviting me back.” He stood straight up, turning slightly to signal the writer to join the conversation. “This is (Surname) (Name), my writer. (Surname), this is my old literature teacher Nagakura Mizuno: quite possibly the reason I graduated.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Nagakura-sensei.”

“Please, the pleasure is all mine (Surname)-sensei. Thank you for taking the time out of your schedule to come out here and talk to my students.”

(Name) lifted herself from her bow with a small smile on her face. “Don’t worry about it, if what Hanamaki said is true then I’ll be happy to help in any way that I can.”

The polite grin the teacher wore on faded into a look of fatigue. “Oh, they need all the help they can get.”

“That bad, huh?” Makki shook his head.

“Atrocious.” Nagakura turned to the writer, deadpan. “Please, don’t feel afraid to make them fear your work if it means they’ll analyse it properly.”

“I was already planning to do that until Hanamaki told me not to.” She glared at her editor, who lifted his shoulders in a half shrug.

“Well from what I heard, Takahiro is being usurped by Mizoguchi to catch up.” Nagakura stated half-heartedly, “Something about wanting to see one of his best players once again.”

The writer sighed, shaking her head at him. “And here I thought you’d be moral support, but you’re flaking on me like everything else.”

“What kind of editor would I be if I held the hand of the current winner for the Akutagawa and Naoki?” Makki sassed, pushing her shoulder with his own. “Is Mizoguchi in the gym?”

“Where else would the Gym Teacher be Takahiro?”

“I just wanted to make sure! You know how he is.” Makki adjust his blazer with a grin. “I can leave my writer in your hands right?”

“Safer with me than in the gymnasium with you.” The teacher gestured to the doorway she originally entered from, “How does coffee sound, (Surname)-sensei?”

“Fantastic, I’ll take whatever you can give me.” She laughed, stepping a little closer towards the doorway.

“I’ll be there before you start (Name), try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone.”

The writer rolled her eyes, waving a hand over her shoulder as Nagakura opened the door and waited for her to follow.

The pair proceeded down the corridor, stopping briefly to make two coffees before continuing through the winding hallways of the main Seijoh complex.

“So tell me Nagakura-sensei, how terrible of a student was Hanamaki?”

There was a beat of silence, and as (Name) angled her head to look at the older woman she just caught the smallest glimpse of a smile appear on her wizened features.

“Believe it or not, he was appalling at everything but Literature.” The greying woman chuckled. “The staff always compared marks for students, and Makki was always one of the top students for a Literature revue, but dead last in anything else. I’m sure that I had to fight every few months to make sure he remained on the volleyball team.”

They turned a corner.

“But I assume I don’t need to tell you how fantastic he is. He is your editor, after all.”

(Name) nodded, unable to stop the laugh that burbled in her throat. Her hand fiddled with the rim of the paper cup.

“He made a fantastic first impression. During an editing session of ‘A Moth to Flame’, he described one of my chapters as the literal equivalent of getting hit directly in the testicles. I agreed. It was love at first sight.” The writer frowned. “Don’t tell him I said that. I’ll never live it down.”

The teacher sighed. “Always had a colourful vocabulary, that boy.”

“An honest match made in heaven.” She mused. “I couldn’t imagine what my career would be without his honesty. You raised a fine literature student.”

Nagakura nodded with a warm grin. “And the others aren’t too much for you to handle?”

“Pardon?”

“Matsukawa, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa,” she counted them on her free hand, “those four were inseparable. I assumed that they were still causing problems together.”

“Ah,” (Name) nodded, “I don’t see Iwaizumi much, nor Oikawa. But Matsukawa and I are friends from university... So yes, I guess there's always a problem around me.”

For a brief moment, (Name) swore she heard Oikawa’s whiny voice pierce through from the darkness of her mind. Nagging her, almost, for lying when literally the entire country saw the rumours of them being together.

(‘We saw each other two days ago Writer-chan,’ the disembodied voice whinged, ‘does our time together mean nothing to you?’)

But the rouse she needed to uphold required nonchalance, no matter how big of a tangent she ended up weaving.

If Nagakura wanted to call her out, then she didn’t make it known. Instead she nodded and grinned politely as they neared the room she was to give her talk in.

She didn’t ask about her relationship with Hanamaki’s friends again.

 

* * *

 

Later, after the seminar she held for the students, (Name) found herself in the staff room with Makki. Lunch was complimentary, and she did her rounds around the staff that came to talk to her.

Mainly the literature and English teachers.

Makki, as Nagakura anticipated, was swept up by the gym teachers and his old Seijoh coach, leaving her to her own devices.

“Is it true you are taking a break from publishing for the next few years (Surname)-san?”

The writer pulled herself from her stupor, looking to the English teacher to her right.

It was. Though it hadn’t been publicly announced. Not like there was any reason to inform the public, but of course words tend do go around in every industry. The discussions went well, for the most part, with Hisakawa having to battle three different opinions and perspectives: his, hers, and the chairman of Kodansha Publishing.

The agreement was set, she’d take a tentative two years off. Tentative in the sense that if she found that she wanted to release something then she could. Makki would, for the most part, focus on his other clientele, in order to keep himself aloft in the interim of his best seller’s career.

(“As if your sales will wane.” He scoffed after the interview, walking from the office towards the station.

“You never know, I could flop.”

“I’ve been living off the commission from your sales for the past two years, (Name), if anything I’m getting a pay cut.”)

“Well they told me I couldn’t retire after the hat trick,” (Name) laughed, “but I do need a bit of break, especially since I was writing through my studies. Is it really that shocking?”

“Oh, no! It would be more concerning if you didn’t relax a little more. You’re still young, after all!”

“It won’t be for too long, knowing me I won’t be able keep myself still.” She shrugged her shoulders dismissively, the truth in her words mistaken for sarcasm as her elders around her laughed.

Before the conversation could progress any further, the bell chimed through the sound system of the school.

“And that’s end of break,” Nagakura sighed, patting her free hands on her skirt. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to see (Surname)-sensei? I can get our Student Body President and Vice to give you a tour-”

“I can take her around,” Makki interjected, suddenly sidling up next to her as the rest of the staff dispersed around them. “Think a more personable touch is better, no? Besides, we’re gonna head off straight after anyway.”

“Sick of us already are you Takahiro?” The coach - Irihata, if she overheard correctly - jested with a grin.

“Could never get tired of you Coach! Just that I’ve still got work tomorrow with another one of my writers, and I promised (Surname) here I wouldn’t take up too much of her time on her hiatus. This was very last minute.”

There was a murmur as the groups dispersed, teachers who weren’t involved going directly to their desks and out the door to their classes.

The duo stayed still as the staff filtered out around them, saying their goodbyes. And then when they were alone, and the sounds of chatter from the hallways officially died down, they exited, finally alone with each other for the first time since they arrived.

“So this tour, where are we starting?”

“Starting and ending at the gym.” Makki grinned, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her down through the back of the school. “Promised Mattsun I’d check something, plus I think it’s only fair that you know about your friends and their past.”

(Name) frowned, casting a suspicious glance at the editor. “Now when you say ‘friends’, you me-”

“Who else but your other half! Apple of your eye! The house plant that snaked his way into your-”

“Yeah, yeah lead the way asswipe.” She growled, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle whatever insinuation he tried to push on her. “Let’s just get this over with, you promised me dinner.”

 

* * *

 

“Remind me where we are going today? I was too busy thinking of other things.”

“Coach Kawamura organised something with this private school.”

Oikawa frowned at Kuroo, who sat slumped over a textbook with a highlighter poised in his right hand.

The coach jostled from a turn, making Oikawa brace his hand on the headrest in front of him.

“Something about a request from Nishijima’s old high school. Also it never hurts to do something for publicity, you of all people should know that Mr I-Have-Three-Sponsorships.”

“But it’s not my high school I’m helping. I feel like a traitor.”

“You signed on for an Osaka team, you’re already betraying your entire prefecture. And your university.” Kuroo scoffed as he turned the page. “Geez, you’re a real unloyal guy. How did you even land your girlfriend?”

Oikawa frowned. “We aren't dating.” He casted a cursory glance around them, taking in the appearance of their teammates who sat in varying degrees of fatigue.

No eavesdroppers in sight.

Bar Kuroo.

“Not with that attitude you're not,” the blocker joked, tapping the end of his highlighter on the page. “How is she, anyway?”

The setter shrugged, relaxing into his seat a little more. “Fine I guess, busy with work. Don’t really have time to talk.”

Kuroo snorted. “You live next door.” His voice was low, but still held the same condescending tone that was familiar to him.

“Yeah well, we’re busy. I’m an athlete and she does, other things.”

“Nice save.”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa huffed and turned to look out the window, watching as the bus steadily trucked along down the streets and weaved through the early morning traffic of trucks and other buses.

“We’re heading pretty far into the central districts… What school is it?”

Kuroo thought for a moment.”

“Shitennoji Junior and Senior High. I think.”

 

* * *

 

If there ever existed a more stereotypical image of a private school, it was Shitennoji.

A private school under the same jurisdiction of the Buddhist temples in the Tennoji ward of Osaka. Oikawa recognised the name from their academics as opposed to their athletics. They often were in the Top 3 private schools in Osaka.

Not that he cared.

They never went to Nationals.

(Neither did _he_ , but that wasn’t the point.)

They were greeted at the gates by the school’s principal, who was quick to fawn over Nishijima. The latter was a reserve blocker, but still two years their senior in the professional scene after being scouted from the B League the previous year.

A brief conversation between their coach, Nishijima, and the Shitennoji principal left the rest of the team standing idly around, taking in the sights of the school grounds.

He and Kuroo looked at each other with the same expression; they had slightly more important things to do than to watch Nishijima flex over the fact he graduated from a high ranking school.

‘It’s not that hard to do,’ Oikawa thought bitterly, ‘I did it, hell even Tetsu-chan went to an escalator school.’

Soon they separated from the principal, who thanked the team once more before returning his office, leaving one of the students to be their tour guide.

There was soft chatter as they walked, smiling awkwardly at the students who lingered to watch the Panthers stalk through the halls of their school.

He couldn't tell if it was in awe of their prestige, or in awe of their heights.

“Would you look at that…” Kuroo murmured, elbowing Oikawa in the side as they were lead through the main buildings in the direction of the gymnasium. He blinked from his stupor with wide eyes.

The setter followed his gaze, and felt the frown immediately appear.

“Gimme a break.”

The rest of their teammates turned their heads in unison to examine what Oikawa had scoffed at saw.

Writer-chan.

Albeit a slightly younger version of her, but still donning the same ambivalent smile he came to know. Fewer frown lines, no sign of the deep half circles that were often under her eyes. Maybe late teens, early twenties.

There was a fleeting look of hope in her eyes.

Most likely some time after her high school graduation.

Next to her photo was an article, with a logo that marked it as a work of the school’s newspaper. It didn’t match the date of the photo, with the headline exclaiming her Hat-Trick of an Oe, Naoki, and Akutagawa.

In his brief inspection, he caught sight of only one phrase.

_‘Acclaimed graduate.’_

“It figures she went to a private school,” he grumbled, turning his head back around.

Was it strange that (Name) had a cabinet in her school dedicated to her? Just about. If he were perfectly honest, he should have anticipated that at the very least.

“Hey, Nishijima,” one of their teammates called, “that might be you next week. Pole position in the display case.”

Nishijima turned back to reply, and then closed his mouth. “Oh nah, that’s the (Surname) Cabinet. Always has been, even since before I graduated.” He ran a hand through his dark red hair, a look of annoyance crossing his face. “I didn’t pay much attention to her, she was two years below me.”

“And yet she’s more popular than you’ll ever be.”

“Should’ve been a better senpai; fuck, even Oikawa knows her, and he doesn’t read.”

Kuroo laughed along with the rest of the team, but sent a knowing glance at the setter beside him.

Oikawa’s lip twitched at the silent challenge Kuroo was giving him; “Make a dumb comment, out yourself that you're dating the famous author when everyone thinks it’s a joke.”

‘If only they knew just how annoying she was,’ he thought to himself, training a look of his indifference onto his face.

 

* * *

 

By the time the team left Shitennoji, Oikawa was more mentally drained than he had ever been in his life.

He lied to his teammates about being worn out from over exertion. That was the only good thing about suffering an injury; you could milk it for as long as you needed.

Lying prone on the bed of his hotel room, Oikawa knew that the reason for his fatigue, for his problems in general, was the writer.

Unfamiliar was the feeling in his stomach as they ran drills around the gymnasium, the odd sinking that made him wonder how much time the writer spent in that gym.

Or on campus in general, if her disdain for discussing Osaka was enough of a tell.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a bad idea for him to take a detour on his way to the restroom in order to get a better look at the article in the main corridor.

(First year university. The photo credit and byline cited Tokyo U.

Of course she had publicity photos for Todai.

She was _(Surname) (Name)_.

His phone vibrated, pulling him from his thoughts and he stretched his arm out towards the nightstand to grab the device. Oikawa frowned and unlocked it, the screen immediately displaying the most recent message.

**Hanamaki Takahiro**

_\- Hanamaki Takahiro sent a photo -_

_Don’t worry. No one saw us take this photo   (7:41pm)_

_She looks cute in the teal and white no?   (7:41pm)_

He opened the photo, and was immediately hit with a wave of nostalgia. He recognised the trophy case, filled with team trophies and acknowledgements from his first through to third years at Seijoh. Photos of each team that played were displayed, and the team’s banner pinned across the top.

His eyes drifted towards the woman standing to its right, and snorted.

The writer stood there, arms folded with her back pressed against the glass. Unamused. Maybe annoyed at the fact that she - for some inexplicable reason - was wearing an all too familiar tracksuit top around her shoulders.

White and teal.

The Aoba Johsai colours.

Oikawa frowned, zooming to confirm that it was the writer, and that she was in fact wearing one of the volleyball tracksuits before he exited the app, not bothering to send a reply to Makki.

Her number wasn’t saved on his phone, nor did he memorised its combination of digits. Instead it was just _there_ , an unnamed number that was a frequent appearance in his messages and call history.

Oikawa pressed the number and put the phone on speaker, letting it lay on the pillow next to his head so he could rest his hands under his head.

The phone rang once, twice, and then-

“Mhm?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” she yawned, “just had a long day. Did you have training?”

He hummed dismissively. “Makki-Makki just sent me something interesting…”

Without missing a beat, she caught on, the smirk in her words practically visible in the air around him.

“Your school is cute.” She retorted.

“You didn’t tell me you were visiting,” he mused with a pout, “I would’ve come given you the grand tour.”

“Trust me, Makki did a solid job of showing me the most _important_ of places. Left no stone unturned, made sure to flex the legacy you four left.” He heard her snort. “I love the little shrine they have for you in the the locker rooms.”

He huffed. Surely she was kidding?

“Oh really?”

“Oh yeah. I love that article for Volleyball Monthly with – fuck, what was the quote? – ‘If you’re gonna hit it, hit it’– ”

“Please stop talking.”

The writer couldn’t stop the laughter from burbling out of her mouth, and Oikawa did nothing to hide the resignation in his voice.

“Are we _sure_ you were talking about a volleyball-”

“I’m seri-”

“Or balls in general-”

“Please let the joke die Writer-chan. Not all of us are best-selling authors.” He sighed, rolling on to his side. “Where’d he even get the tracksuit?”

“Bastard brought it with him in his briefcase.”

Oikawa couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping. “Are you still in Sendai?”

“Only did a day trip. It was kind of a last minute thing.”

“Oh yeah? Because there are so many sights to see in Sendai.”

“We were there on business, Makki organised it. I just wanted to sleep today.”

“Business?”

“Random school visits, because that’s something my contract requires I do, I guess.” He laughed at her sarcasm, and the clear dissatisfaction that laced the undertone of her words.

“I mean,” he started, “you aren’t the only one making surprise visits.”

Silence.

“If you’re standing outside my door-”

“No,” he laughed, “I visited your school today as well. A teammate organised something cause he graduated from there. Nishijima Souji?”

The writer harrumphed. “Red-head, kinda obnoxious? About two years older than us?”

Oikawa grinned, “So I’m assuming his cred at the school isn’t as good as he made it out to be?”

The writer scoffed. “His uncle is the principal. He had a free ride. People had to be nice to him - private school hierarchy.”

“Y’know, I’m just realising that you’re a fountain of knowledge and I’ve never appreciated you more.” He swooned, exhaling deeply. “I’m gonna roast him tomorrow at practice.”

“Be careful, Nishijima-senpai always had a fragile ego.” She chuckled, the sound of shuffling filling her end of the call.  “So you’re still down in Osaka?”

“Why, miss me already?”

The writer scoffed. “Would it help your ego if I did?”

He rolled his eyes and shuffled around his back to better position himself. “Two, three days. But I can be back earlier if you want?”

“No, no. Just checking.”

He found himself nodding as the silence filled the phone call. Just the sounds of their own soft breaths, same as if they were together in each other’s physical presence.

“You did nothing for a few months, right?”

He blinked, turning to where his phone laid. Oikawa hummed.

“How’d you cope?”

Another pregnant paused filled the gap and let him ponder, because no way, shape or form could describe what he did in his months of rehabilitation.

They talked about (Name)’s hiatus, her decision to just _exist_ for a few years and not work as hard as she had been since her first year of university. It was a terse few weeks of indecision for her, and Oikawa just sat and watched her run her thoughts into circles before she made her choice.

If he were honest, it took her long enough to ask for advice.

Even if she wasn’t _phrasing_ it as wanted advice.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “Almost went insane with boredom.”

“That’s comforting.” The writer scoffed.

“Yeah, well, we’re workaholics… But you’ll find something to do… Travel, pick up a hobby.” She snorted a his suggestion. “What’s Makki-Makki meant to do while you’re off being a hermit? Starve?”

“He has a few other clients he edits for, if anything managing me was taking time away from them. I’m doing him a _favour_ ,” the writer explained. “If he didn’t think he could survive without my work then he wouldn’t have agreed so readily.”

He raised and eyebrow at her. “Is that a hint of regret I hear?”

(Name) didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back to annoy you in a few days.”

She hummed.

“It’s late.”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve got training tomorrow.”

“I’m aware.”

The writer laughed. “Please let me sleep, Oikawa.”

“Is it a crime to want talk to you?”

Her laughter intensified. “Yes, it is when I want to sleep.”

“Did you want anything from Osaka while I’m here? Anything you miss in your home-sickness?”

“I don’t get homesick.”

“Let me get you something, then.”

“If you give me sleep then that will be enough.”

“(Surname)~” He whined, “accept my gift.”

“I’m going to sleep,”

“No~ Stay up with me.”

“G’night Limpy.”

“Don’t miss me, (Name).”

And then she hung up, not before cursing at him under the breath. A dial tone filled the air, making the setter sigh.

‘Just business, like always with her.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! uni kinda kicked into high gear, and ive been swamped with research for the last few weeks. but!! oiks and writer are here, and being their usual trashy selves.
> 
> i honestly am loving the dynamic theyre developing right now; Pine-kawa is the cutest Kawa tbh, and Writer-chan is absolutely rood for not indulging him. but hey, there are still 7 parts to go, we've got aaaall the time in the world to watch where they develop. 
> 
> let me know what you think! i always love hearing what y'all have to say! next update from me should be the next chapter of LAOAT!


	3. Green (With Envy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not ask for more than you need.

_ April, 2019 _

“So how’s your girlfriend?”

Oikawa glared from underneath his towel, kicking his foot out into the middle blocker’s shin. Kuroo laughed, shoving his shoulder into the setter’s.

“You’re really trying to make my life difficult, Tetsu-chan?” He growled, dragging the towel over his damp forehead and through his hair. “And she’s not my  _ girlfriend  _ \- she’s just my neighbour...”

“M’just asking man. It’s been awhile since the country heard from her. You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“If it gets you off my back then I might just consider it.” The brunet dropped the towel on top of his bag, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from the joints and muscles. Kuroo tilted his head at the shorter man, smirk widening as if demanding him to answer. “She’s on a break. Nothing revolutionary.”

He slammed the locker shut, not bothering to cast another glance at the blocker who took to leaning against his own. 

Training for the National Team ran a little longer than normal, what with the FIVB Nation’s League tournament looming from where it would start at the end of the month. Though most of the team had left the moment practice ending, Kuroo and Oikawa opted to linger for a bit longer with a few of their other teammates. Now, they were the only two left in the locker rooms at the request of the blocker.

Had he known Kuroo would ask about the writer, Oikawa would have high tailed it out of there like the rest of the team.

“So she’ll have time to come out to Serbia and watch you play, huh?”

Oikawa scoffed and lugged his bag over his shoulder, watching as Kuroo followed in suit just a moment later. “Sports aren’t her thing.” He answered, beginning to walk out of the locker room.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t come out, show some pride for her beau. You don’t wanna see her in your jersey or something?” Kuroo stepped into stride with the setter, armed wrapped around his shoulders with an impish smile. “Isn’t that the goal? Having someone  _ other _ than your nephew be your biggest fan?”

“Stop projecting, it’s not cute.” The setter grumbled, shucking himself out of the ravenet’s grasp. “Is this the only reason you wanted me to stick around? To ask about Writer-chan? Is your interest  _ satiated _ ?”

“Now, now, is it not normal for bros to want to know more about their friend’s girlfriends?” His shoulder nudged into Oikawa’s. “Sue me, I’m invested in this now.”

“Focus on your blocks, we’re gonna need you to get your head out of my ass before the tournament.” 

The pair stepped out of the stadium, enveloped in the warm air of the encroaching summer months. Before Kuroo could whip out his own retort, another voice called out to the pair from across the parking lot. 

“Yo, Kuroo! Oikawa! Did you two want a lift?”

Oikawa looked across the lot, gaze landing on to one of their teammates poking their head out of the passenger side window of a parked car. “Inata! You’re still here?” Kuroo called, nudging his head for Oikawa to follow him in his strides towards the vehicle. 

“Had to wait for my ride since she  _ forgot _ to get me.” The brunet turned his head to face whoever was sitting in the driver’s seat. “Though Yura wouldn’t mind giving you two a ride as a  _ favour _ for forgetting her dear best friend, wouldn’t you, Yura?”

Inata’s body lurched from a hidden shove, making the senior player laugh. There was an indignant huff, and Kuroo waved his hand dismissively. “I’m alright, I can handle standing for a little longer on a train.”

“And you, Oikawa?” Inata turned to face the setter, “I don’t want you straining your knee so close to competition season again. You’re up in Bunkyo, right? That’s not too far away from where you live, right Yura?”

His body jerked towards the window again, a hand that Oikawa could only assumed belonged to ‘Yura’ shoving against her friend’s shoulder blades.

Oikawa opened his mouth for a moment, gaze trained on to the shadow of the driver’s seat continuing to smack at the smirking man. Inata looked at him, unapologetically, and a whisper of a memory echoed in his mind.

A night out with the boys a few weeks ago, a chorus of complaints from several of his teammates about their lack of a love life, and the insanity of the rumours that some of them found themselves in despite  _ never _ having time to do anything for themselves.

Oikawa’s blatant lie in front of Kuroo and Bokuto about not seeing anyone. Inata’s suggestive smirk and his mouth moving to say that he “could help with that”.

_ Why is everyone invested in my life? _

“I’m good, actually,” he answered, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat with a practiced ease, “I’ve got to meet up with a couple of friends are their place tonight. Some other time?”

Inata nodded, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. “Of course, see you two at the next practice.”

Tight lipped, Oikawa stepped away from the car and watched as their senior and his friend drove away. 

“You know that ‘I’m sort of trying to hook up with my neighbour’ is a valid excuse if you don’t want to get set up.” Kuroo teased, cattish smile appearing on his face.

“Were you in on it with Inata? Cause if you were then don’t be surprised if you get a volleyball to the face.”

 “Breaking my nose won’t solve anything.” Kuroo grinned cattily. “Y’know what  _ would _ ?”

He spun on his heel as he began to walk away from the setter. His voice increased in volume, and even in the dim light Oikawa could see the shit eating grin his friend so commonly adorned. “Admit you have feelings and grow up! You need closure ASAP!”

And then he was gone, sprinting off into the night in the opposite direction of the station they normally walked to. 

Oikawa stood there, unblinking, before the words sunk in.

He grumbled, folded his arms across his chest, and proceeded with his trek to the station. 

The setter scoffed, kicking up stray asphalt on the path. 

Since when did they need ‘closure’? He knew where he stood with (Surname), as he assumed she did as well. 

That was all there was to it. 

They were both on the same page. 

Oikawa was sure of it. 

 

* * *

Quiet days were a rarity for (Name), what with her bullheadedness, and her hairpin trigger concerning her career. Though far and few in between, she never really knew what to do with herself. Maybe that was due to her brain never truly turning off, or because the impending fear of student debt continued to haunt her at every corner.

She swapped apps on her phone, eyes adjusting to the slight shift in colour. 

But for the first time in a long time, she was beginning to appreciate the concept of a “Day Off”, even if it was technically in the middle of a very unnecessary hiatus. 

The first few weeks were, surprisingly, productive. (Name) still attended therapy with Nakamura, though intermittently as was previously discussed. She spent most of her days inside, waiting until it was warm enough to start camping on the balcony and watch the sun rise and set in the distance. She bought a knick-knack or two from Odaiba - and  _ finally _ got around to dusting the top shelf of her book shelf.

(Because ‘holy shit, why the fuck didn’t Makki or Mattsun  _ tell me _ I had the fucking Dust Bowl happening up here?! The fuck’s the point of being nine-feet tall and  _ not _ telling people when they have dust mites that are developing consciousness?’)

And when her whirlwind of belated ‘to-do’s began to run themselves into the ground, (Name) took to reading.

For  _ leisure _ , of all things.

The past few years had forced her to read for business; reading was less about enjoying the work of your colleagues and more centred on looking at the competition. “You have to know the enemy in order to crush the enemy in sales”, if she recalled Hisakawa correctly. So she rarely looked at a story for what it was to the actual reader; an escape.

Somewhere in March she ran out of things to read.

Not literally; (Name) knew she was a picky reader, and the dirty three-paragraph rule she thought she left behind in high school reared its ugly head.

Give the first chapter three paragraphs to justify reading the rest of the book; if you feel your eyes begin to roll into the back of your throw it away.

It was the perfect test to do in a bookstore, and it saved her countless of times when she considered trusting Makoto’s taste in literature.

(Lesson Learned: Steampunk space pirate odyssey  _ sounds _ riveting in theory , but in practice it was a train wreck.)

Sometime after the sun had disappeared beyond the veil of skyscrapers, her doorknob jiggled with a familiar fumbling of a key in a lock.

The hinges creaked, and there was a short shuffling and  _ thud _ before the culprit rounded the corner.

“You home, Writer-chan?”

She didn’t look up at the setter. 

(Name) kept her eyes on her phone screen, growing more aware of the silence between them and only being disturbed by Oikawa’s presence when he flopped down on top of her, crushing her into the cushions beneath them.

She winced at the impact and frowned.

If she  _ ever _ found out which asshole gave Limpy their key to her apartment, hell would break loose.

Her mind leant towards Makki - he was a pushover, it made sense.

Oikawa adjusted his body, letting his head rest against her shoulder while he laid on his right side. Maneuvering carefully, the setter pulled the writer’s free arm away and slid it around his shoulders, letting his right arm wiggle it’s way underneath her torso and up her abdomen. He caged the writer against the back of the couch, slowly slotting his legs between her own bent ones, before releasing an exhausted huff.

Still, she paid him no mind.

His grip around her waist tightened slightly.

“What’cha reading?”

She felt his nose trace up and down the column of her neck, slow and calculated. The heat of his breath fanned against her earlobe, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his war-path. One hand squeezed in its grip on her waist, enabling him to drag himself closer. 

“Journal article.” She replied, remaining still and stoic as her gaze trailed over the same sentence.

“About?”

“About ‘A Moth to Flame’. Apparently this analysis is ‘groundbreaking’, which is dumb, cause you only say that shit if the author is dead and  _ can’t _ retort. I’m pretty sure ‘hiatus’ doesn’t equate to  _ ‘dead’ _ .”

Oikawa shifted again, moving them further into the curve of the couch. The writer refrained from groaning under the pressure of his body as he let his left half come to lie completely on top of her. He rested his head just above her chest, chin angled upward so that he could brush his lips against the underside of her jaw. He hummed, the sensation rippled through her skin. “So, is it ‘groundbreaking’?”

“Eh,” the writer continued, “it’s decent enough. It’s an interpretation - I can’t fault them for an opinion.”

“How noble, Writer-chan.”

His hand moved across the plain of her stomach, back and forth over the fabric that covered her skin.

(Name) trained her features into remaining still while her mind raced over the possibilities of the setter being completely  _ fucking delusional _ . 

Sure, dealing with Oikawa’s clingy, annoying personality was a given, but this level of attention seeking was unprecedented. 

Especially considering the previous levels of interaction she was familiar with. 

“How was your day?”

From her peripheral, she caught the way his top lip rose from his tongue as it ran over the top of his canine teeth. 

“Interesting.”

She hitched a brow up. “Oh?”

“A teammate tried to set me up with a friend of theirs today.” 

The writer stopped reading, the grip she held onher phone tightened ever so slightly.

“Huh. Did you ask them to?”

“Of course not. They like meddling.”

“Meddling? With you?” She dragged her eyes away from the screen for a moment. “It’s not the other way around?”

He clicked his tongue at her. “I’m an  _ unbelievably _ attractive man who is publically single when he has people fawning over him  _ daily _ , Writer-chan. It’s not hard to believe that people would be interested in me.”

The phrasing caught her off-guard, even more so than his admission of his day’s events. But she pressed on, continuing to read (or at least pretending to). 

“Every day you start to look more and more like a Nendroid… Just…” She moved one hand well above her scalp and puffed her cheeks full of air, all before deflating into their regular shape. 

(Name) looked at him from the corner of her eye. His eyes were closed, but the slight crease in his brow was enough of a sign of his annoyance at the situation.

She stopped again. 

“So?”

“So what?”

“When’s your date?”

Oikawa pushed himself off her, eyes wide and confused. “Pardon?”

“Your date? You agreed to see her right? Or was it a him?”

The setter’s dark pupils shook as she spoke, the silence speaking for him. 

“You declined?”

“Of course I did!”

He hovered over her, arms no longer tangled against her body and legs helping trap her underneath him. 

“Were they not cute?”

“That’s besides the point here!” He gaped. “You thought I said  _ yes _ ?”

(Name) locked her phone and put it down against her chest as she stared up at him, trying to get a read on the emotions flashing through his eyes. “Well, yeah. You’re ‘publically single’ - a  _ bachelor _ . It’s kinda normal for friends to set single friends up, as stupid as it is.”

“But that doesn’t mean I have to agree to every blind date I get offered!” The words seemed to rattled in the dry cavern of his throat, every other foreign emotion being washed over by the disbelief permeating in his being. 

He had a point, but still-

“We both have images to maintain Limpy. You said it yourself you wanted to keep this,” she gestured between them, “out of the public’s eye.”

A hurricane swirled behind Oikawa’s eyes, one that - for once - the writer had difficulty comprehending. 

“So you’re saying you’re okay with me asking her out for the sake of image? Leading her on? You’d let me live a lie?”

(Name) frowned, propping herself upright by the elbows so she could meet the setter halfway. 

“You’re making this a bigger issue than it needs to be.” She deadpanned.

“I’m just following your train of thought here.”

“That’s not the insinuation I’m making.”

“Then explain.”

The heat of his stare made her choke as she strung the right set of words together. The look on his face was one that was not missed, was an expression from the days when the animosity was still taut like a bowstring and where understanding was a foreign country.

But that was then, and this moment was now. And (Name) had a vague idea as to how to make her thoughts easier for the setter to get. 

“I’m saying that you need to consider how you look to the general public… I’ve always been a recluse, and people don’t see a lot of me in public enjoying my personal life. But you're much more of a  _ personality _ than I am… And isn't it strange that someone like you is just mysteriously not present when he was so often the centre of attention?”

Oikawa remained silent, staring at the unchanging expression on the woman beneath him. She could see her reflection in his irises, and for a moment she believed he would swallow her whole. 

And then the tension was gone. Just as quickly as it came. 

He dropped his right side, leaning his weight on his elbow and bringing his face so much closer to hers. 

“M’gonna make dinner. Hungry?”

She blinked, then shook her head. “I’m full from lunch.”

Oikawa didn’t answer verbally, instead pushing himself away from her and sitting upright on the edge of the sofa. He nodded, and moved a hand so it rested on her thigh for a moment, patting it twice before standing up. 

“Just knock if you want food.”

“Yeah…” Brows pinched together, she turned her body to face him a little more. “See you round.”

There was a beat of hesitation in Oikawa’s expression, but he moved away from her nonetheless, slowly stalking towards the door of the writer's apartment. 

The door shut softly a few seconds later. 

And it was only when she heard his footsteps trail down the hall a few paces that (Name) let herself collapse back onto the couch. 

 

* * *

It’s not that it's irregular or strange for Oikawa to be in his apartment, the door was always open for any of their friends. 

It's more so concerning above all else. Oikawa in particular always made a point to announce his arrival to the Matsukawa-Hanamaki residence because he “didn't want to mentally scar himself”. 

But there he was, ass-crack of dawn, huddled on the sofa while Mattsun made his guest some coffee.

“You're lucky Makki stayed at the office last night, Oiks. You almost woke the entire building up.”

The setter didn't reply, the thousand yard stare remained on his face. 

Mattsun frowned, stirring each mug once over before he brought both drinks to the lounge. Oikawa took his mug with a nod, ceramic cupped between both hands before he took a long slow sip. 

The curly haired man sat next to him, feet up on the coffee table as hr mentally prepared himself for whatever shit show was about to unfold before him.

“Is (Name) okay?”

The host blinked. Three simple words never woke him up so quickly. 

“(Name)?”

Oikawa nodded definitively. “She brushed me off last night.”

“She does that to lots of people Oiks, you're not that special-”

“But this was  _ different _ .” The strain is practically palpable in the air. “I keep getting set up by my teammates since they think I’m single. I told her and she was, like, ‘Oh, you should go on dates!’ Which is  _ stupid _ because we - I mean, it's  _ insensitive _ to just - like who  _ does _ that-?”

He tripped over his words, stumbled over syllables and backtracked as if lost in his own train of thought. It would be amusing, were it not for the fact that the tone the setter used was one unlike him. 

Torn. Desperate. Genuine. 

Oikawa’s head flopped back against the sofa. 

“Like if Makki got hit on by a coworker you would be annoyed about it, right? Cause its out of line. And Makki would do the same for you, right?”

Mattsun nodded silently, eyes trained on the swirls in his coffee before he leant and placed it down on the coffee table.

He removed his feet from where they rested and sat upright, leaning over to pat the shorter man on the shoulder. 

“Oiks. I love (Name). I love you too. I’m not  _ completely _ mortified over the fact you two kiss and do whatever it is you two do, and if I’m honest I’m not really bothered if that suddenly ends either.”

The brunet’s head snapped to the left, eyes wild and wide. 

“Course I’d be pissed if Makki got set up by a friend of his. We’re engaged. Exclusive.  _ Monogamous _ … until (Name) realises she’s missing out. It’s different for us because we aren’t  _ you _ guys.”

He let his hand drop, and let it lay across the back of the seat. 

“The  _ real _ question you should be asking is if the tables were turned; would  _ you _ be annoyed if she got asked out by someone else… I dunno, that Imai dude? Or B-”

Mattsun stopped himself, watching as the setter’s nails scraped along the sides of the mug, leaving marks in the once unmarred surface. 

(At least that was  _ his _ favourite mug, not Makki’s.)

“No.”

He lied.

But Mattsun let it slide, didn't bother looking back at the setter for the dignity he so desperately wanted to keep. 

A hauntingly twisted mirror of denial he’d rather not face. 

“Because you’re  _ not _ dating right? Just  _ coexisting _ ?”

Oikawa didn't reply. His gaze remained on the ceiling above him. 

“Then don't get all huffy when you’d react the same way.” He stated, a sad node of truth in his tone. “I’m just being real. You’re a good looking dude, and a decent person on a good day, but that doesn't guarantee you’ll be everyone’s first  _ and _ last choice.”

“I know that!” Oikawa determined, frown prominent on his face. “But it’s still principle, right?”

Mattsun shrugged. “Probably. If you’re dating. But if this is a fling then it's not… So you might wanna rethink this whole  _ arrangement _ you’ve got going on. Like, if you want exclusivity on display or not. Because you won’t get answers from yourself if you don't know those limits.”

Silence engulfed them, Oikawa no longer staring at his slowly cooling coffee. The frown pinched his at his features a little more deeply. 

“Plus, it'll be a little awkward if you two stopped being a pair right when I finished getting your key cut for her apartment. I’d have to explain it to her and I  _ really _ don't want her to rip my dick off.”

The man next to him perked up. “What?”

Mattsun jutted his chin towards the coat rack in the hall. 

“Left coat pocket, swung by a key cutter after work yesterday.”

The setter scrambled up, placing his drink on the table before he moved towards the hanging garment. His voice flitted from down the hall, carrying a “Why?” through the air. 

“Cause I figured you needed one. That, and Makki finally realised his key was missing. I can’t keep telling him I borrowed it and left it at work because I’ve lost  _ my _ key to her apartment.”

There was silence and shuffling for a moment before Oikawa reappeared, holding the new key in his hand. 

“Won’t she-”

“Kill me? Eh, she loves me too much to risk it.” Mattsun sat upright again, leaning forward with his elbows on his bent knees. “You’re welcome to stay here while I'm at work. Dunno when Makki’ll be home, but he’d be happy to see you too. We’ve got leftovers in the freezer, and snacks in the cupboard. I think Makki’s been hoarding ice cream if you really wanna lament over the whole situation.”

Oikawa didn't reply. Instead he trudged back towards the sofa and sat back down, still holding his new key between his index finger and thumb. 

“I’ll get out of your hair soon… I’ve got training today I just… Needed perspective…”

The ravent nodded his head and lifted his mug to his lips. “Then we’ll have a chilled out morning then. I don’t have to head in until 10-ish.”

 

* * *

“So where are you now? Home?”

“Mhm, been really digging the whole hermit lifestyle I’ve got going on. How’s the new promotion serving you?”

“Good! I got a pay rise which is fun, means I can come visit you more often.”

“What’s your office’s number again? I have to talk to your CEO.”

“(Name).”

The writer laughed, cradling her phone between her ear and shoulder. The pan in front of her sizzled as she stirred the glass noodles. 

“M’kidding. Just give me a heads up when you decide to drop in.”

Makoto hummed. “Of course, Ichiro does want to come up to see you. We might time it with a trip he has to make in August. You’d be free for a few days, right?”

“Probably. I don't really have anything better to do these days.”

“What, Oikawa-kun isn't keeping you busy enough?”

(Name) scoffed.

“Speaking of, how is he? You don't mention him often.”

“I’m on hiatus but my life suddenly doesn't revolve around him.” She asserted. “He’s alright, I guess. Competition season is coming up. His team mates keep him entertained more than I do. Keep setting dates up for him and shit friends do.”

“Wait, for real?”

“Mhm, apparently it's a frequent occurrence for him these days.”

“You’re not annoyed?”

“We’re adults, Makoto, not teenagers. He’s allowed to accept or reject whoever he wants to without my approval or knowledge.”

The sounds that came through the receiver of the phone were inhuman, a mix of broken syllables and floundering coughs of disbelief. 

“But you two are dating!”

The writer frowned, placing her wooden spoon down. 

“Who the fuck said that?”

“ _ You _ ! You told me that he's been hanging around with you more! That you kissed and spent the holidays together!”

“But that doesn't mean we're dating.”

Something slammed in the background. “(Surname) (Name) I am going to come up to Tokyo and kick your ass.”

She switched the stove off and moved the pan off the heat entirely. “Fuyutsuki Makoto I do not know why you’d want to do that.”

“Someone needs to smack some sense into you and make you realise that you and Oikawa  _ are dating _ !”

“Do I have to tattoo it to your forehead? I never said that, ever.”

Her best friend scoffed. “Have you been on a date with anyone else recently? 

“I don't go outside in general, you know that.”

“And he hasn’t seen anyone else besides you, right?”

“That I know of-”

“So you  _ are _ exclusive-”

“That doesn’t automatically mean we’re dating. Neither of us have labelled it like that.”

Her friend groaned, a sound so guttural and full of frustration that it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

“You’re  _ adults _ ! Sometimes you don’t  _ have _ to announce that your dating to actually  _ be _ dating! God, (Name), you really are hopeless when things aren't written down!”

To an extent that was true, but the writer would  _ never _ admit that - especially to  _ Makoto _ of all people. 

“And people who hang out with each other aren’t automatically dating either.” She retorted, composing herself as to avoid offending the other woman. “You’re worse than tabloids, honestly.”

Something slammed on Makoto’s side of the call. Hand to wood, most likely, a table. 

(Makoto was on break right? Was she taking this call in her office? The fear lurched up into (Name)’s throat all too quickly.)

“Okay so you’re casual with him because you enjoy his company, or whatever you wanna tell yourself. Would you want him to react like you are if you asked someone else out? Or he actually agrees to see someone else and genuinely starts being around them more. You’re gonna take that?”

Her mouth opened, and then closed. The corners of her lips twitched slightly.

The concept sat funnily in her stomach. Not necessarily uncomfortable. Foreign. Like most things were in the arrangement she had with Oikawa Tooru. 

“It’d be weird if it wasn't around…” She relented. “But that's because he's been in my apartment so fucking often these days. I dunno, I might like the quiet again.”

Before Makoto replied, the writer’s phone chimed with an incoming call. She pulled it away from her ear and watched as the ID appeared on the screen. Her lips pulled together. His name was never a good thing. 

“I’ll call you back Makoto, someone on the other line.”

“Is it Oikawa-kun?” She perked up slightly. 

“Nah, workmate. Talk in a few.”

(Name) immediately hung up and accepted the incoming call. 

“Eikichi, what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her colleague sighed upon hearing her voice, frantic scrambling cut through his end of the call. 

“You’re coming tonight, right?”

She blinked. “Tonight?”

“Dinner with President Noma and some of the executives. Hisakawa told my manager you were.”

Pain surged from the flesh of her cheek as she chomped down on the muscle from the inside in frustration. 

“Does ‘hiatus’ mean nothing to that man?”

“They're talking about funding or something? I don't know, I got forced to be there too. So I'm really hoping you'll do me a solid.”

Running her tongue over her teeth, she sighed. 

“You owe me. Is your manager driving you in?”

The mangaka sighed in relief at the acceptance. 

“Course. We'll come get you on our way, and drop you off if you need. 

“Please, saves me an awkward taxi trip.”

“Two hours,” Eikichi hummed, “and dress nicely please. Heels bare minimum.”

“Thanks for the heads up Mum.”

And then his voice was gone, replaced with a dial tone that made the woman slump against the counter top. Tipping her head back with a groan, (Name) made a note in the back of her mind to both deal with the Oikawa Conundrum, and to murder Hisakawa in a dark alley. 

 

* * *

It was a spur of the moment decision, one that was somewhat predictable when considering how overt Inata was with introducing his friend Yura to the team after practice. 

Yura held on to his arm as they were guided to their table in the far corner of the restaurant. High end. Not at all as busy he anticipated. 

Which was great. Fantastic, even. 

Though Yura was a nice person, had been cordial all evening so far, she was still lacklustre when compared to the hype Inata surrounded her with. 

It wasn't her fault her best friend was an idiot who couldn't tell his own feelings for her. 

And it wasn't her fault that this endeavour was a fruitless fruition from the start. One that would lead nowhere because-

Oikawa shook the thought of the writer from his mind before he pulled Yura’s chair out for her, and quickly took a seat opposite her. The smile he gave her was warm, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. 

A bottle of red wine was given to them - complimentary (read: unnecessary) - while their waiter gave them time to look over the menu. 

The small talk ensued and flowed as naturally as small talk could, only interrupted by the sound of rambunctious laughter from across the dining hall. 

The pair’s gazes moved to follow the sound. 

And Oikawa’s lips immediately pulled back into a grimace. 

(Surname) (Name). 

She was there, with a familiar brunet that he caught a fleeting glimpse of beyond the sheer divider separating their part of the restaurant. 

Imai Eikichi.

But unlike the situation he found himself in with Yura, (Name) and the Imai guy weren't alone. Instead they were merely seated next to each other, mingling with other individuals seated around a large banquet table. 

He recognised the figure at the head, the President of Kodansha Publishing he had the unfortunate honour of meeting late last year. 

He didn't recognise the other presences around the table, but from the way (Name) and Imai were jovial in their actions he assumed they were also writers under the Kodansha banner. Or sponsors. Or both. 

‘So much for a hiatus huh Writer-chan,’ he thought to himself, amused.

In a flash, the writer’s head moved, as if she heard his silent jest. 

Their eyes met across the room, through the divider that separated the function from the rest of the dining floor, and then they looked away in tandem.

An awkward reminder of the conversation they shared less than a few nights ago echoed in his mind. The sensation of being so close to her physically, yet so far away in every other regard. 

“No wonder the restaurant is so empty.” Oikawa hummed casually, looking back towards the menu in his hands. “Looks like a business function.”

Yura nodded, and Oikawa watched as her eyes narrowed. “Is that Imai Eikichi? I love his new webtoon, ‘Wanted: People’-”

She blinked. 

“I wonder if he and that lady are dating…”

A sinking feeling dragged his shoulders closer to the floor as he watched the pair share a smile and clink their glasses together in the watchful gazes of their company. 

Oikawa faked a laugh. 

“Disappointed?”

Her face flushed as she turned back to face the teasing stare of the setter. 

“No! I didn't-”

“I’m kidding Yura-chan! I know when I’m beaten~” Oikawa propped his chin up in his hand as he stared at her. Eyes darted from her face to the silhouette of the writer. “Choose whatever you like, my treat~”

Immediately, her eyes darted down and her head bobbed in a nod. 

In the absence of her gaze, Oikawa found himself watching the writer, waiting for their gazes to meet once more. 

They never did. 

 

* * *

The Kodansha function ended not long after Oikawa and Yura started their meal. A relief the setter would be thankful for, if it weren't for the fact (Name) acted as if they never knew each other in the first place. 

Perhaps it was for the sake of her colleague, who stood beside her and guided her out of the restaurant after they had farewelled the rest of the guests. 

Maybe it was because she was experimenting with her own idea of image, of who to socialise with and who to avoid, just like she posed to him all those nights ago. 

It sat uncomfortably in his chest, but he refused to let it show, not until he was alone and free from prying eyes of his date. 

Yura was, indeed, sweet. 

But they were on different wavelengths. Different paths. It would never work out. 

It was late when Oikawa returned to his apartment, having dropped his date home on the other side of Bunkyo beforehand. 

The world was quiet, even as he entered the dark genkan of his apartment. The only light he acknowledged was the white glow from his phone screen as he scrolled through his social media. 

He shrugged off his coat and shoes, not bothering with cleanliness when the fatigue began to seep into his bones from the long evening. 

As he rounded the corner of the hall, he paused. Fingers poised against the lightswitch. 

That was already flicked on. 

And cast a shadow on the floor-

His head snapped up and-

She was seated on his couch, scrolling through her phone with a bemused expression. He made sure to cough, to attract her attention.

(Name) didn’t look up.

“Welcome home.”

His mouth formed words that never produced any sound. Questions and comments all muddled together in his mind. No cohesion developed in his subconscious. And after a minute, he found his footing to spit out a-

“You don’t have a key to my apartment.”

She hummed, unperturbed by his initial silence. “Indeed.”

“How did you get here?”

“You left the balcony door unlocked.”

He blinked, looked to the balcony door, and then back at the writer seated cross-legged on his lounge. 

“You… Climbed the balconies…”

“As if it’s hard.”

“In  _ that _ …”

Her eyes drew away from her phone and did a once over of her suit clad body before she nodded with a shrug. “It’s dark.”

There was no hesitation in his steps, no warning in the way his body lurched forward. 

Oikawa was on her in an instant, dropping their phones somewhere between their tangled bodies as he consumed whatever personal space she once held. 

He pressed her against the edge of the couch, caging her in with his hands on either side of her body. His tongue pried her lips apart, and he ran the muscle over her teeth and gums, staking a claim he  _ knew _ he didn’t have the rights to.

But she was  _ here _ , he argued to himself. She came here and waited for  _ him _ . Jumped a balcony for  _ him _ . Saw him on date - acknowledged it was in fact a date - and still chose  _ him _ .

_ Fuck _ the labelling or exclusivity or  _ whatever _ . 

There was understanding. 

_ Why was he so scared in the first place?  _

His lips trailed the column of her neck while her hands threaded and tangled in his hair. He hummed against her pulse whenever she tugged, and kneaded the skin at her hips with every passing second. 

Her mouth found his again, guiding his face back, as if grounding him in the reality of the moment. He twisted away from her, lips still locked as he began to unbutton his dress shirt. The writer’s hands followed, moving across the slowly exposed expanse of chest and the fabric spilled open.

And then there was an alarm. 

A ringtone all too familiar that worked in tandem with the phone as it vibrated across the cushions. 

Oikawa groaned, letting his head drop onto her shoulder. “I’m gonna murder whoever is calling…”

“What if it's your date?”

He shook his head and sat up, one hand still lingering at her hip.

“It’s not… Just, do me a favour and just…” He pulled her into his lap, her legs spread over the swell of his thighs as they pushed her closer to him. He held back a groan at the fact she was wearing a pan suit. 

_ If she had just worn a dress- _

He kissed her feverishly again, all before reaching for his phone to answer the incessant call, holding it with the hand that wasn’t fumbling at the writer’s top. 

He caught a glimpse of the screen before he brought it to his ear, lips already pulled into an annoyed grimace. 

“Yeah, Inata, bit busy right now, make it quick.”

(Name) moved away from his face, instead kissing across his clavicle as she pushed the shirt away. 

“You’re a dickhead, Oikawa!” Inata’s voice exclaimed. “You didn't fucking try, did you?”

The setter bit back an eye roll, desperately trying to focus on the conversations and not the butterfly kisses the writer on top of him. 

“I walked her home!” The woman’s nails dug into his arms, making him hiss silently at the pain. He rutted against her in response. “I paid for dinner! For the cab ride! I even gladly ignored the fact she was thirsting over another guy in the restaurant!”

He hiked the writer further into his lap. He fumbled for a second, tapping on the screen to go hands free before he went back to (Name). 

“You could’ve at least-”

“Kissed her?” Oikawa paused for a second to bite down on the writer’s collarbone. Air whistled through her teeth, making him grin before he continued. “Yeah, turns out she ain’t my type.”

“Yura’s a nice girl, Oiks, you couldn't have at least had two dates!?”

“I appreciate the set up, it just wouldn't have worked out, if she’s so great you date her. In the middle of something!”

Oikawa slammed his hand down blindly to end the call, immediately refocusing on the task at hand. 

“Pushy teammate?”

Her question was breathless and teasing , but he paid no mind, instead working on the buttons of her top. 

“I’ll deal with him later,” he dismissed, sucking a deep bruise in the valley where her neck and jaw met, “right now I-”

The phone rang again, chiming and buzzing in a way that made the setter irate. 

He pulled himself away, reaching for the phone again before-

“Yes?!”

The world froze for a moment, engulfing them in silence as Oikawa’s eyes widened. (Name) pulled away slowly, gaze trained on the device that the setter pulled away from his face. 

He swallowed the lump on his throat. 

“It’s…”

She nodded, putting it in her grasp. 

“My phone… Hello…”

For a moment she remained on top of him, free hand still perched on his shoulder up until her eyes went wide. The writer slowly pulled herself off his lap, stalking into the hallway in order to regain some sense of privacy.

Oikawa watched silently, visibly dishevelled, and waited for the signs of the call to end. He made no move to redress himself even with the mood waning. 

He caught snippets of formality in the hushed tones she spoke in, but was not able to piece the context together before (Name) appeared back around the corner. 

Oikawa sat upright. He watched her lip tremble, and the tightening crease of her brow. 

“My…” She coughed and averted her eyes, pulled down the hem of her dress. “My grandfather he, uh, he had a stroke or something. He got admitted an hour ago…”

The silence clawed as his throat. 

“They said he might not make it through the night.”

Oikawa stood up, slowly moving towards her as if approaching a dangerous animal.

“My father isn’t in the country… Grandma called him first to let him know… I just…”

He was in front of her, watching as she looked everywhere but at him. Strange. But he could lament over the curiosity another day. 

“Hey…”

It was only then that her head snapped towards him. And only then that he saw a long forgotten panic settling deep in her eyes. 

“I’ve gotta… I gotta go or something I-” 

She flinched away as he reached for her, but only just. Oikawa took the edges of her top and crossed them back over her chest, buttoning it closed one by one. 

“Stay the night.”

She didn’t answer. 

“Stay here, (Name). You aren’t going anywhere until the first trains start running tomorrow morning. Breathe. For me.”

The words were getting through, but they held no weight. He could see the plans form and die in her mind, and Oikawa couldn't help but frown

“Maybe-”

“Iwa-chan’s not in the country.” He murmured, rubbing small circles into her hips. From the way her shoulders fell, he knew he hit the nail on the head. “He’s overseas for work. If he was here, he would, but he’d also tell you that the shinkansen is faster than driving.”

“I, yeah…” She swallowed, Oikawa’s eyes trained on the lump as it trailed down, down, down her esophagus. “Sorry… M’not thinking straight..”

The setter shrugged dismissively and brought his hands up to hold her shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles in the fabric clad skin. “It’s alright… It's sudden, to say the least. You’re allowed to, y’know,  _ not _ be put together-”

_ In front of me. _

(Name) nodded again, eyes darting downwards again to avoid the sympathetic stare Oikawa knew he was wearing.

“Take the bedroom… You need all the sleep you can get… I’ll wake you up before the first train leaves so you can pack and we can buy your ticket…”

“You sure…?”

“If you make me think about it, I’ll make you climb back over through the balconies.” He chided, quirk of a smirk slowly emerging in the tense atmosphere. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ll be out here if you need me…”

They met gazes once more, a silent challenge between each other as a means of forcing their own agendas. 

He didn’t yield.

He refused.

But if he couldn’t finish whatever it was they were starting, then  _ fuck _ he would make sure that she was decent enough for whatever shitshow was waiting for her back in Osaka.

In the brief moment of hesitancy that he caught in her eyes, he pushed her back ever so slightly, letting her shoulder blades make contact with his bedroom door. “Seriously. Sleep. I’ll be fine.”

(Name) stayed motionless for a second, before nodding in defeat. “You’ll wake me up… Right?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

Time stood still for a second before she nodded and let herself retreat into the master bedroom, murmuring a soft “Thanks” as she left him alone.

The door slid shut, separating them despite how much Oikawa wanted to be near her. 

He sighed and shook his head, letting his hand linger on the cold wood before he made his way to the bathroom to  _ cool down _ .

As he shut the door behind him, he pressed his own back against it, letting his head roll backwards until the crown laid flat against the barrier.

“Rest easy…” He hummed to himself, “ I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no post! I'm so sorry for being MIA for most of this year, things have gotten a little rough in life and it's been hard for me to write. 
> 
> But I'm back! And that's what counts! I've missed Writer and Oiks very much, and ngl their relationship is what's keeping me sane these days. Their whole situation is gonna keep escalating, and lowkey cant wait for the final part of Fortune lmao.
> 
> My twitter is where you can keep up with my shenangians, mainly cause I don't post on any of the other socials, so drop me a follow [here](https://twitter.com/waywards_) so you can yell at me directly for taking too long with these updates. I'm hoping to have some UCB and LAOAT up soon, so I'll see yall soon!


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